


A moment between

by TatianaLexei



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, F/F, Insecure!Phil, M/M, NotAnAndroid!Phil, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Sickfic, sick!Phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-09 00:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12876435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TatianaLexei/pseuds/TatianaLexei
Summary: Phil is having a miserable day, sick and forcing himself to hide it for the sake of others, he is completely wrecked when he goes home alone at the end of the day. Luckily, that changes.





	A moment between

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stepantrofimovic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepantrofimovic/gifts).



> (AN: Created for Stepantrofimovic for the Clint Coulson Holiday Exchange. I did what I could to keep it tight to the prompts. There shouldn’t be any triggers, I was deliberately vague on the action scene, trying to keep it as light as possible. If you find one, please advise and I will tag accordingly.  
> Please be advised I am Canadian and we spell a lot of words with "u"s in them where other English speaking countries do not. I'm sorry for that, I don't want to change it.  
> Below are the prompts requested.
> 
> 1\. Inspired by something I saw on Tumblr: I'd like a fic where one of the boys is sent home on sick leave and is surprised when the other shows up on his doorstep to take care of him, because he genuinely didn't think anyone cared about him enough to come visit. I have a slight preference for Phil being the one taken care of, but the other way round is also great!
> 
> 2\. One of them giving the other a full-body massage after a difficult day. I don't mind it turning sexy, not at all, but I'd also like a lot of focus on the nonsexual touching and hurt/comfort.)

Phil gives a small wave and a wince-like smile to his sweet, elder neighbour Elva as he closes his door between them. As he has just returned home from a truly hellish day, he is immensely grateful that she does not seem to be in one of her very talkative moods. On a normal day, her anecdotal stories are entertaining, like the ongoing saga of her husband Claude’s sciatic nerve issues, or the triumphant tales of her beloved grandsons’ recent exploits in the exciting world of little league sports.

Just this morning, they had spoken briefly as he was leaving for work. Despite waking up groggy, stiff and aching, he had managed to keep a pleasant smile on his face while sharing his plans to take his boyfriend Clint to dinner when Clint returned from his “business trip” later that afternoon.

Now that Phil is home again, some 13 hours later, his plans unfortunately cancelled, he feels utterly wretched. The headache he had been unable to kill with ibuprofen this morning had worsened on account of the tall SUV traveling behind him for 23 of the 26 minute drive to work. During the course of the day, the pain had only intensified to what is now blinding, migraine pain. Phil rests his head ever so gently against the cool door, but even that minute movement makes him whimper. Finally free to shed his infallible Agent Coulson persona, he tries to release the tension he’d carried all day as he’d kept his illness from all and sundry, but as his barriers come down, his misery at being home, alone and unwell, skyrockets.

He’s not surprised to be alone, he almost always is. However, there is just something about being sick that turns your head upside down, making you crave attention and comfort and Phil was no different.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

At work, he had done everything he could to keep everyone away. During his first meeting of the day, overseeing the disciplinary action for one of Jasper’s agents, former CIA John Cambry, he had swallowed his bites of bagel and sipped his lukewarm coffee even though it had felt like swallowing glass. He had finished a bottle of water by the time Cambry had finished whining. Phil had tried to ignore how grating the tone of Cambry’s voice had been to his tender head. He had not let the vertigo and dizziness slow him down as he had marched to Director Fury’s office for the Echo Nine Foxtrot mission check-in.

Phil had resisted the urge to loosen his tie and to give in to that persistent tickle in his throat as coughing would definitely have drawn unwanted attention.

When Echo Nine Foxtrot’s team leader Jamieson did not check in, Phil had had a brief discussion with AD Hill before he had stopped by his office to grab more ibuprofen and a spare clip on his way to the helipad. With Natasha injured from a previous op and Jasper pulled into a level 9 redacted mission, Phil had needed to argue with Maria for the right to go bring their agents in. In the end, Phil had succeeded in making the point that Natasha would go through Phil to go help Barton, but that Maria, as Natasha’s girlfriend, could probably persuade her that Phil would be able to find and bring Clint and team home with a bare minimum risk of bodily injury to herself.

With this new danger to the team and his lover, the adrenaline had helped him to ignore his body’s fever and chills. Although his suit had felt cool and wet from where his hot skin had been trapped against the chair he had been sitting on, he had known that the material would not show through. He had resisted the urge to shiver and curl in on himself, he had remained focused only on getting to Echo Nine Foxtrot’s position and finding the team. 

Flying across the city to the airport had been agony, the noise, the pressure, the nausea had made Phil very glad no one else was in the chopper but the nervous pilot, who had now known Phil Coulson well enough to tell something had been off. Phil had pondered his situation on his brief flight.

It hadn’t been that he didn’t trust his friends, quite the opposite in fact. He had known that Marcus would have channeled his mother and would have felt compelled to check in often, to send baby agents around to watch over him and to have soup delivered etc... In Phil’s head, it had sounded great to have someone care that much, however, while Jasper on a mission so classified only Fury himself knew the details, Phil had not wanted to pull any of his focus from where it could have been needed.  
Maria probably would not turn into some crazed mother hen, but her partner Natasha, one of Phil’s close friends and agents, would have stubbornly moved in to assume primary caregiver status as if he was only an infant. Phil had seen her on ops taking care of Clint and he had both feared and wanted that attention and intensity. But Natasha had been injured on their last op when a former Red Room graduate had caught up with her and had tried to take her out. It had only been quick thinking, implicit trust and Clint’s unerring accuracy that had prevented further injury, maybe even Natasha’s death.

Phil had been careful to keep his health to himself, even in supposedly private places like his own office and the men’s room. Phil had known better than most that Natasha had eyes and ears everywhere, so if he meant to keep the details from her, it meant he had to keep the details from everyone and suppress his symptoms completely.

When he had arrived at the airport and had been rushed onto his flight, he had downed another bottle of water before the pressure change of taking off had him biting down so hard, he had been close to breaking teeth, Once they were at cruising level, he had made his way to the lavatory, applying a cold, wet napkin to his nape. As the flight to Indiana was under two hours, Phil had spent the rest of his flight time focused on reviewing the information compiled during the week-long operation. With the status of the team leader unknown, the Director had had to scramble a replacement. No other active handlers knew enough about the op to take over, except Phil and Maria.

Even on pain of death, Phil would never leave his team, especially his lover, to an error-likely situation like an unprepared handler in an unknown situation with the kind of scum they had been sent to apprehend. Just one more reason Phil had needed to hide his illness.

Landing in Indiana, Phil had been incapacitated by the pressure changes yet again, so he had stayed completely immobile with his reports loaded onto his stark pad. When the captain has come to inform him that they had landed safely, the man had only seen Agent Coulson waiting patiently and looking at his tablet. He had not seen Phil’s glassy, unfocused eyes barely blinking as they had looked at the report before him without reading a word.

Phil had collected himself and immediately checked in with base to confirm no one from the Echo Nine Foxtrot had checked in before setting out to the team’s last known location to begin tracking his wayward archer and the rest of the team. 

Within 2 hours, Agent Coulson had been able to locate and join up with the Echo Nine Foxtrot team, where he had noticed that Team Lead, Agent Jamieson, had been unconscious but alive and only Clint and Agent Allard had remained in play. Agents Biggs and Talbot had both been injured but had remained mobile. Within another two hours, Agent Coulson had his injured team mates on route to the plane via the general hospital and Agents Allard and Barton in his vehicle about to try a desperate ploy to get their mark into custody and back to New York before night fall.

With the co-operation of local PD, Phil had managed to wrangle some extra gear and create a situation that would be completely untraceable, which would have allowed his team to get into position in broad daylight without unwanted attention and complications. In their final exit, two obliging agents had pretended to be criminals so Barton could keep his weapon by dressing in their TAC gear and Phil had traded his suit coat for a bullet proof vest and a local PD windbreaker as he had directed the team to apprehend and remove their target from the confusion caused by their impromptu raid.

As they had been leaving the scene, Phil had been removing the vest; his fingers had fumbled once before finding the velcro, weakly pulling the fastenings apart. He had been very careful not to wince at the ache in his body or the noise irritating his pounding head. As he finished, Clint had handed him his carefully folded suit jacket with an intense stare.  
When Allard had been pre-occupied, and Clint had found himself alone with Coulson in the general chaos, he had spoken in a mournful tone.

“Figured this would go sideways when we were planning on Mozzies.”

Phil had given him a shrug as if to say ‘What can you do?’ and had checked his watch to confirm they had already missed their reservations. He had shaken his head in disappointment before he had followed Clint to the waiting vehicle. 

Upon arrival at the plane, Phil had given quick instructions to Allard regarding the prisoner’s transport before he had climbed into the plane himself. Moments later he had looked up as he heard Clint coming on board, talking quietly with Allard.

Phil had considered this behaviour strange. Clint had never made friends that easily, and the two agents had never worked together before. Phil had pulled out his cell and had called Fury while he had kept an eye on them, reporting the success and minor injuries to his friend and boss. Phil had seen Clint make a call before they took off, had been able to just make out a spattering of Russian which had identified his partner on the other end of the line. When Phil had finished with his call to Fury, he had then made his way to check on his injured team members. Jamieson had been resting quietly, with Biggs reading to her from a book. Talbot had been curled up with a handheld video game on a bunk. Phil had confirmed for them all that they were taking off, to strap in until they hit cruising altitude. He had heard Clint step into the room before he had heard him speaking in a falsetto voice in the style of a vapid stewardess. Phil had spun a little too quickly to see his vibrant lover as he had made the others laugh and had ruthlessly ignored the vertigo that swamped him. He had stayed completely still until it passed and then he had nodded to the group and moved off to strap in for takeoff.

Phil had wasted no time, he had begun composing his after-action report while the names and relevant but non-vital information was still fresh. Within 2 hours, their plane had landed and Phil had barely needed to give any direction, the three wounded team mates had left together for medical and Allard and Barton had gathered up the prisoner and had taken him off to interrogation. As Phil had been leaving the hangar, Clint had come back into the mostly empty room.

“Hey Phil, since we’ve missed Mozzies, I’ll stick around for a bit, keep the guys in line. Is it alright if we catch up later?” Phil had not realized until that moment how much he had wanted to stay in and cuddle with Clint. He had swallowed painfully, keeping his expression neutral. His voice had started to crack as he spoke.

“Yeah-” He swallowed again hoping to lubricate his throat. “I’ll see you around”

Clint had given him a double thumbs up and a cheeky wink before he had turned and strode off with purpose. Phil had a moment to pray whatever hijinks the team got themselves into, he would not have to deal with extra paperwork.

Phil had caught himself before he reached his office. His work had been completed, his body was nothing but a collection of aches and chills and his mood had never been so low. He had enough presence of mind to take himself home to bed. He had turned and headed straight to the garage where he had brought his lovely Lola in, anticipating Clint’s surprise and appreciation for his car when they would have been on their way to the restaurant. He had been halfway across the parking lot when he noticed the car had a flat tire. He had stopped dead in his tracks, unable to stop the slight groan.

‘I only brought my Lola to impress Clint and show him how important our relationship is and now our plans are ruined, Clint’s going out with the team without even asking if I want to come, my car needs repairs and I can just imagine those grubby little mechanics in automotive touching my bab-’

“Sir?” Phil had straightened and turned to face the agent addressing him. “Would you like some help with your car Sir? Or maybe a ride home?” Phil considered a moment.

“Thank you, Allard, I was just-” Allard had hit the fob on his keys, unlocking the car next to Phil.

“Hop in Sir, I live clear across the city so you’re almost guaranteed to be on my way.” He had opened his trunk to deposit his bag before he had looked over at Lola. “You can call someone from automotive to fix it up for you.” 

The chill of the night had urged Phil into the car, where he had promptly strapped in and given Allard his address before they were off into the night. Phil would see about getting a ride in tomorrow morning and getting his baby all fixed up before he trusted the mechanics here.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

Phil silently chides himself for being so maudlin and pulls himself away from his door. He slides off his shoes, hangs up his jacket, groans aloud as he maneuvers it off of his shoulders, making the all-over body aches flare between his shoulders. He has no sooner made it to his bedroom, shucking his holster and sliding his gun into the lockbox when someone knocks on his door. He tenses, his adrenaline spiking and he pulls the gun back out and creeps to the front door once more, peering through the peephole.

“Clint!” Phil calls out, surprised, as he rushes to unlock the door. Clint smiles sheepishly, weighed down with bags and containers.

“Hey Phil.” Clint’s sheepish smile dies as Phil just stares. “Is this a bad time?” Phil visibly collects himself and steps aside, reaching to take some of the bags. Clint just breezes past and into the kitchen. Phil closes the door and locks it, taking a deep breath, brain foggy and unable to understand what is happening. He shuffles over to the kitchen entrance and his head tilts just a little in his version of a confused puppy look.

“”What’s going on Clint?” Clint finished putting the water in the kettle and turns to see his boyfriend starting to list towards the door jamb, head tilted adorably and gun forgotten in his hand. Clint walks forward and puts his hand on the gun with a gentle smile. Phil startles and lets it go, having completely forgotten it was there. Clint un-cocks the gun and sets it on the counter before pulling Phil into his arms.

“You’re sick Phil, I’m here to take care of you.” Phil cuddles into Clint’s cool neck as he is hugged, Clint’s strong arms wrapped around his arms and body. Phil mumbles something against Clint’s neck which makes Clint want to laugh and tense up, but he won’t jostle Phil like that. “What was that baby?” Phil pulls his head back and stands straight with Clint’s arms lowering to his waist.

“No one noticed.” Clint really doesn’t want to ruin his delusion but both Fury and Hill had noticed, Fury just knew his friend well enough that he knew Phil wouldn’t have gone home until the team was safe. Hill had noticed and reported dutifully back to Natasha, who had gotten Hill to go out and gather all the lovely groceries and medicines that Clint had dragged in with him. Clint himself had defaced poor Lola so that Phil wouldn’t be able to drive home in his condition. As soon as Allard, who Clint now owed a favor, got Phil away, Clint had personally fixed Lola’s tire and then he drove her to Phil’s private garage. Clint smiles indulgently, knowing now is not the time to admit everyone essentially knew and worked together to take care of him.

“They don’t call me Hawkeye because I can fly Phil, I noticed.” Phil crumbles a little at the news. Clint just rubs his hands up and down Phil’s arms soothingly. “Never mind about how I know, the point is I’m here to take care of you. You are still fevered, let’s get you into a warm bath, you’ll feel 100 times better.” Phil lets himself be led to the bedroom, through to his bathroom. The tub is a jet tub, easily big enough for him to enjoy a bath. Clint starts the water and settles Phil onto the toilet seat to wait, holds up one finger in the universal symbol for “Wait a minute”. Clint dashes from the room and Phil hears him coming back just as quickly, a bag rustling and now he is holding a small light blue container with salt inside. Clint struggles to get the pack open for a minute but once he does, he dumps the whole pack into the water.

Clint starts mixing up the water with his hand, adjusting the temperature so the water is just a little hot. When the water starts getting higher and the salts have all melted, Clint stands and moves to help Phil undress. Clint is careful to keep Phil from lifting his arms or making any big movements. He’d seen how rigid and tense Phil had been from the moment they connected earlier that day. He and Phil are still new to being in a relationship, less than 3 months, but they’d been working together for years, he knows this man, every miniscule little detail committed to memory when he thought he didn’t stand a chance.

Clint takes Phil’s shirt off and then shifts him to stand directly in front of the toilet. Just as he undoes his belt and pants, sliding them down and off Phil’s hips, he helps Phil sit on the toilet yet again. Clint looks over at the water before he slides to his knees at Phil’s socked feet. He lifts each leg and slides the pants off, leaving Phil in socks and briefs. Clint pauses as he feels Phil reach out to touch his shoulder. He looks up to see Phil staring at him, so Clint slides his hands gently up Phil’s arms, across shoulders and takes hold of his lover’s face.

To any outsider, Phil would have looked a little tired, but Clint can see the small frown lines that crease his eyes, the slightly pursed lips that speak of pain being ignored and the lifeless eyes, telling him that Phil is little more than autopilot right now. After another quick glace at the water, Clint stands up and pulls Phil’s head into his abs, one hand wrapped around his nape, squeezing gently, the other rubbing his shoulder blades. Clint wishes that he could have wrapped the mission up a day earlier, so that Phil could have just stayed home when he woke feeling like shit. 

Clint holds Phil there until the water is high enough before pulling his one hand away from his shoulders, to gently card through Phil’s hair, his other hand gently pulling his boyfriend away from his stomach. Clint moves to turn off the water then helps Phil out of his socks, putting just a little extra pressure on his second and third toes when rubbing down his feet. He helps Phil stand and then pulls the briefs down perfunctorily before standing and helping Phil into the water.

Phil breathes in the surprisingly mint smell of his bath and feels the warmth of the hot, silky water wrap around his feet and calves for a moment before Clint helps him sit and recline into the water. Clint immediately grabs a cloth from the closet and starts rubbing the slightly coarse material across his chest, running the warm cloth up and across his shoulders gently. Phil closes his eyes in bliss and Clint smiles.

“Stay here a few minutes, I’m going to put tea on and start heating the soup.” Phil didn’t even react so Clint left quietly.

Clint comes back into the room a little bit later. He reaches down and pulls the plug before he begins rubbing Phil’s feet and legs with the cloth, working quickly against the draining water. He methodically works his way up the front of Phil’s body. When Phil cracks an eye a few moments later, he simply moves the cloth up Phil’s neck, around to his nape, scraping his fingers gently in Phil’s hair. Clint leans forward and uses his other arm, sliding it behind Phil’s shoulders to pull him into a vertical sitting position.

“It’s time to wash off, your dinner will be ready soon. Come on Baby, up you get!” Phil sighs and puts his hands on the edge of the tub to lift himself out but his strength seems to have run right down the drain with the bathwater. Clint pulls him up to where he can get his feet under him so Phil stands up, a shiver running down his back. Clint just wraps a bath sheet around him and then pulls the shower curtain over and in front of him so the water can’t spray him. He starts the water in the shower mode immediately, holding the shower curtain to keep Phil from getting ice water on his shivering body as the water warms up. Moments later, the water is warm enough, Clint reaches over and pulls the towel off, and once that’s clear, he moves the curtain back into position, warm water spraying Phil’s hips and legs. Phil moves into the spray right away, feeling the warmth surround him yet again. Had his bath been that cold or was it just from standing wet in the shower?

Clint startles him when he pulls open the curtain on the side farthest from the spray. Was he imagining that Clint had left the room for a few moments? Phil is unmoved by the sight of his extremely gorgeous lover shirtless only a few feet away and feels a pang of regret. He notices Clint’s indulgent smile.

“Focus Phil, we probably have 2 or 3 minutes and then you need to get out cause your soup will burn if it’s left much longer. Grab the shampoo and I’ll wash your hair.” Phil hands the bottle across to Clint, who has now climbed up onto the tub edge, standing taller for ease of head washing. Phil groans when he feels Clint’s hands massaging his scalp as they work. 

“You are amazing Clint, thank you.” Clint decides to humour him.

“Just call me the Amazing Nurse-Man, caretaker of badass SHIELD agents.” Phil glares up for a moment but his mouth is turned up in a grin. Clint guides Phil’s head under the water, his hands rinsing the hair clean as he pulls back and then jumps down to the ground, pulling the curtain closed at his end to keep in the heat for Phil. Phil chases the last of the suds off of his body, doing a full head to toe immersion rinse and then hears Clint come back into the room. The water is turned off and Clint immediately wraps an overly warm bath sheet around his shoulders. Clint smiles cheekily.

“Man I’m glad you have your own laundry pair.” Phil suddenly connects why his towel is warm and dry and works on drying himself, warmth and appreciation flooding his chest. Clint backs off, pulling his shirt off the counter to slip it over his head. “Come out to the kitchen when you’re dried off, I; left some sweats on your bed.” 

Phil briefly wonders how Clint got all of this done without him noticing but gives up and decides to go with it, to enjoy this wonderful human who is single handedly giving Phil every once of comfort he so ruthlessly denied himself earlier.

Phil comes out of the bedroom in thick wool socks, never before seen, extremely purple and softer than imagined, a threadbare and comfortable pair of SHIELD-issued sweatpants and an army ranger sweater with frayed edges and barely any elastic left in the hems. Clint is dishing out two huge bowls of soup that looks like homemade stew with clear broth. Phil’s face scrunches up in confusion 

“Does Natasha know you used her recipe to make this?” Clint grins guiltily.

“I didn’t.” Phil’s face falls at the news so Clint rushes to explain. “It is her Rassolnik, but I didn’t make it.” Clint pauses a moment for dramatic effect. “Nat made it herself.” Phil looks crestfallen. All of his suffering to keep her from worrying, all of it for nothing. Clint continues.

“I noticed you weren’t right when we caught up on the mission. I knew right away that you weren’t feeling well. I ran it by Nat, Hill and Fury confirmed, Hill sent a junior agent to pick up the soup. I hear she had the poor bastard convinced it was a matter of national security.” Clint smirks. “No wonder Nat loves her. Anyway, she delivered Natasha’s Rassolnik to me, to help keep you from getting dehydrated. They both send their love, more or less, and hope you didn’t make yourself worse trying to hide it from everyone.”  
Phil rolls his eyes and follows Clint, holding the bowls of soup, to his table. He sits down and Clint steps over to get spoons and something out of the bags, Phil can hear a lot of rustling.

He pulls out two tablets from a blister pack, sets them on the table and then pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. Phil sneers but lets Clint open and dump two thirds of a bottle into a tall glass. Phil glares at the glass of pink liquid.

“Gatorade will help kill the fever and replenish your electrolytes; I think you can drink one bottle.”

Phil downs the pills, taking a long pull of his drink. Either his taste buds are really fried or they had a new flavour because he wasn’t immediately feeling nauseous. Clint and Phil eat their soup in peaceful silence. Clint carts the bowls off and dumps the rest of Phil’s Gatorade bottle into the now empty glass before they move off to the living room. 

Phil cuddles up on the couch with his boyfriend, who turns on an episode of Supernanny. Clint curls his legs up under himself and Phil snuggles in, pulling the soft throw off the back of the couch to cover his lower extremities. Phil slowly drifts off; his body half shifting until he is sprawled over Clint’s curled up lap. 

Phil wakes a few hours later in a whole lot of pain, looking up to see Clint had passed out with his head tilted back, mouth open, snoring. That must be what woke him up; his partner has always snored when he was truly exhausted. Phil sits up gingerly and then pulls himself up to stand. He can’t resist the urge to stretch but as he does, the pains of his poor body catch up and he is groaning and catching his breath in turn. 

Clint jumps up to confront the threat that is making his Phil groan like that. It takes Clint a shockingly long time to figure out the issue but Clint has a solution in his bag of tricks. He rubs his hands together very fast, like he’s trying to start a fire without sticks. Phil slumps his back with every exhale but inhaling on a hiss when the movement aggravates those sore back muscles. 

Clint wraps Phil in a hug, placing both of his super warm hands on Phil’s shoulder blades. Phil feels the targeted heat and a muscle or two release their painful tension, allowing Phil to stop and just relax against his boyfriend. Clint smiles and nudges Phil’s face with his nose.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to let us sleep here, you must be so sore now. Why don’t we go lie down and I can give you a nice back massage, then you can get some real sleep, hmm?” Phil nods, although it was more of a nuzzle motion with how heavily he was leaning into Clint. Clint carefully releases Phil, wary that he might be drowsy still, but then guides him towards the bedroom, grabbing the bag from the kitchen counter on his way. 

He helps Phil sit on the bed, hands him two more pills from the blister pack and a bottle of water to drink. Phil drinks the whole bottle and Clint helps him undress and lay on his belly. He plugs in and tucks a heating pad between sheet and blanket at Phil’s feet before climbing up onto his rear. He seats himself carefully, trying not to force his lover’s back to arch because of his weight. He pulls out a bottle of unscented massage oil, the stuff the Physio team uses at SHIELD, before rubbing some between his hands and getting to work. 

Phil is usually stoic and quiet, but his body slowly starts to release tension as Clint works, which in turn releases groans of appreciation. Clint may not be a professional, but he had taken that extra course in kinesiology a couple of years back and now he thinks he has a pretty good idea of where everything should be and how it’s meant to move. He just works to loosen the tension and the knots in Phil’s back, neck and shoulders. After he deems Phil’s back sufficiently relaxed, he just starts rubbing for the sake of comfort and contact. 

Pretty soon, he hears Phil’s light snore so he lifts himself off of his sleeping lover and pulls the blankets up to cover Phil’s back, knocking the heating pad to the floor. He rubs gently to let the warmed sheets soothe before he stops, reaching down to turn off and tuck away the pad.

Clint does a quick clean of the apartment, leftovers and the gun put away, dishes washed and clothes in the hamper before he has a quick shower. He pops two cold pills as well, to prevent illness, and then he sets the rest of the blister back and a fresh bottle of water on Phil’s nightstand before climbing into bed next to his peaceful lover.

He lays his head down on the pillow in front of Phil and thinks he might be the luckiest man alive, seeing this wonderful man trust him enough to let his guard down. His face looks to happy in sleep, he looks innocent of the cruelties that humans inflict on one another. Clint gently rubs Phil’s face and arms as le lays awake in the soft bed.

He smiles to himself as he imagines spending all day tomorrow lounging about with Phil. Clint knows that the mission reports are done, as he helped the others get their thoughts onto paper on the plane. He now owes more favors to the agents who completed their after-action reports so quickly, but he’d gladly make a deal with the King of Hell so that Phil doesn’t need to go in tomorrow, especially if that Devil looked like Mark Sheppard.

Phil rolls over and scoots back, cuddling closer, laying his head on Clint’s arm, tucking his wrist into Clint’s hand, a strangely intimate touch that never fails to make Clint feel like he’s protecting Phil, even in sleep. He pulls Phil close, wrapping one arm over him to rest on his hip, breathing into his hair since Phil’s head is now directly under Clint’s jaw.

Clint sighs, drifting off before whipping his hand up to cover his nose just before-

“Achoo!”

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: Thank you to my beta, who worked hard with little time to finalize, she is such a glorious human. If you spot any errors, it was 100% my fault, let me know and I will correct them. Thanks also to my recipient, stepantrofimovic, for such inspiring ideas to work with. I was planning to shoehorn some Fury/Sitwell in here for them, but I had to leave it at “Sitwell is super deep undercover” *cough*Hydra*cough* and allude to a relationship between them. Hope you all enjoyed, let me know what you thought in the comments.)


End file.
